House Rules
by Eileen
Summary: When Kurt comes over to take care of a sick Blaine, they both get a surprise when Blaine's dad comes home unexpectedly. Things do not go well, initially. But Kurt soon learns that first impressions can be misleading.


Kurt went through three separate outfits before deciding to mix and match pieces. The blue shirt with the khaki pants, striped bow tie, and brown shoes. He examined himself in his full-length mirror for a long moment, and then he took everything off and started over.

He should just call Blaine and find out what he was wearing, and then base his own outfit on-

Just as he was thinking that, his phone buzzed with a new text message. Blaine, probably wondering what Kurt was wearing. No, Blaine never worried about what to wear.

_What's up?_

_Can't make the movie today, sorry._

_Why not?_

_I'm sick. Flu, I think. Not moving off this couch any time soon._

_Can I come over?_

_Not yet. Dad's leaving for the airport in half an hour. Think you can wait that long?_

_I'll be counting every second, babe. See you soon._

Well, that settled it. It didn't matter what he wore now, if it was just him and Blaine. He put on the khakis with a simple red polo shirt, and started gathering up some medical supplies, since he wasn't sure what Blaine had at his house. Then he sat down to watch the clock.

Buzz. _It's safe. He just left. _

_Need me to bring anything?_

_Your special get-well soup._

_Already got the ingredients packed. I'll be right over._

With that, Kurt packed up his bags of goodies, and headed off to Blaine's house.

Blaine's car was in its usual spot, but the other side was empty, the door rolled up. Kurt thought about going in through the garage, but somehow it didn't feel right. He went to the front door, but it was locked.

Buzz. _Spare key's in the flower pot. Sorry, I literally can't get up right now. _

_Oh, baby, you're really that sick?_

_I'll be okay once you're here with me. _

_Okay. In the flower pot, you said?_

_The one on the right side. Call me if you can't find it._

_I'll look right now._

Kurt felt around in the huge potted hydrangea to the right of the door (Madonna didn't know what she was missing; they were such a lovely shade of blue), and finally found the house key in between the side of the pot and where the soil gave way. He unlocked the front door, put the key back where he had found it, and then hauled all his stuff inside.

The living room was at the top of a short flight of stairs, and Blaine was on the couch, looking absolutely miserable. The coffee table beside him was heaped with used tissues, medicines, and homework.

"Sweetie," Kurt said, closing the book and laying it aside, "don't ever try to do geometry assignments when you're sick. No wonder you're so exhausted!"

"There was nothing good on TV, and I was bored." Blaine's voice sounded raw and raspy, as if he'd been coughing all night.

"Don't worry, I brought lots of movies." He grabbed a small trash can from across the room, cleared off the coffee table, sprayed it with disinfectant, and then spread out the DVDs on the surface. "Pick whichever one you want. Even if it's an action movie. I promise I won't complain."

Blaine looked over the selection. "You have _True Grit _**and **_Tron: Legacy_?"

"I think Jeff Bridges is **the** premiere actor of our time, don't you?"

"Can we watch both?"

"Sure." Kurt put _True Grit _in the DVD player, and then went to the kitchen to get started on the soup. "When did you take medicine last?"

"My dad gave me some stuff before he left. So I should be good for a couple of hours."

"Which stuff?"

"The liquid in the purple bottle."

Kurt looked at the label. "It says two spoonfuls every four to six hours. So you shouldn't need any more until . . ." He checked his watch. "About two o'clock. You think you'll be okay till then?"

"Yeah. Can you get me some more ginger ale?"

"Oh, sure." It was in the fridge, and it was already half-empty. "Is there any more of this?"

"There might be some in the cellar. I'll try and make it last."

"Oh, no, you need to stay hydrated. The soup will be ready soon. Did you start the movie?"

"I was waiting for you."

"I can see it from here."

"You know," Blaine said, struggling to sit up, "this couch is wide enough to fit two people, if we kind of turn on our sides."

"Spooning, you mean?"

"Kind of, yeah. We don't have to, if you don't-"

Kurt put the soup down and sat in the armchair next to the couch. "Finish your soup first, then we'll snuggle."

The look on Blaine's face was so overwhelmingly happy, it made Kurt want to cry.

* * *

><p><em>True Grit <em>was just coming to the climax when suddenly Blaine heard a key in the lock. _Who's that? Oh, no, it can't be . . ._

"What the hell's going on here?"

He rolled over and looked up, into his dad's angry face. "What are you doing home? I thought your flight left at noon!"

"The flight was cancelled. I don't fly out till tomorrow. You didn't answer my question. What is going on here?"

Kurt quickly swung his legs onto the floor and moved to the armchair. "This isn't what it looks like-"

"Is this what you do when I'm not here? Blaine, you know the rules. You are not supposed to have your little boyfriend over when I'm not here!"

"Kurt was helping me . . . he made me soup . . ."

"There's some left, if you want it," Kurt offered.

"I think you had better leave."

"Dad, that's not fair-"

"Blaine, go to your room."

"What?" His voice cracked, and he coughed for what seemed like a long time.

His father softened his tone. "You need to be in bed, son. Come on, I'll help you move."

Kurt looked at Blaine helplessly. "Call me?"

"I'll try."

He left the stuff; there didn't seem any point in bringing it home with him, with the exception of the movies. He left _True Grit _in the DVD player, though. Hopefully, he and Blaine would be able to see the end of it soon.

It just wasn't fair! All he wanted was to comfort his sick boyfriend, and just because his dad didn't approve of their relationship, he had to kick him out like that? What was wrong with the man? Why couldn't he accept them for who they were?

Kurt didn't realize he was crying until he got in the door and his dad said, "The movie get out that early-hey, sport, you all right?"

"What?" Then he reached up and felt the tears on his cheeks. "Oh, it's . . . it's . . ."

"What? Come on, tell me. What happened?"

So he sat down and told him the whole thing. "He didn't even ask for our side of the story! He just threw me out like . . . like . . ."

"I'm going over there," Burt said.

"Dad, no! Please, don't . . . at least wait till he's cooled down a bit. I don't want to have to go pick you up from jail."

"He shouldn't treat you like that!"

"I know, but . . ."

"I've been wanting to have a talk with this guy for a long time."

"Can I at least come with you?"

There was a long pause while Burt considered this. "All right," he said finally, "but stay in the car till I come to get you."

"Promise you won't punch him."

"Hey, if he deserves to be punched, I'm not holding back."

"Dad!"

"All right, all right. I won't punch him till I've heard him out. Now let's get in the car."

They were just getting underway when Kurt decided to call Blaine to give him a heads-up that they were coming. To his surprise, Blaine's phone went straight to voice mail. He tried sending him a text message, but it went unanswered. That only made him more nervous.

"So you never met Blaine's dad before today?" Burt asked.

"No. He's always away on business trips."

"What does he do for a living?"

"He's a Human Resource consultant for some big company. He goes on a lot of recruiting trips."

"What about his mother? What does she do?"

"I . . . I don't know," Kurt admitted. "He doesn't really talk about her much. I know she's not dead, cause he would have said something when I told him about my mom, but . . . she's not around. I don't know why."

"So he's alone all the time?"

"Pretty much."

Burt sighed. "He's not much of a father, if he's away more than he's home. Tell me where to turn, now, I don't know where I'm going."

"Turn left after the lights, then it's the second right. There's a gate, but it's always open."

"A gate? Sounds fancy."

"Wait till you see the house."

Mansion was more like it. The place was huge. Kurt had never realized how imposing Blaine's house actually was. It made their modest three-bedroom home look like a shack in comparison.

"This is like Buckingham Palace," Burt said.

"Dad, it's not really that big."

"Not that big? It probably has its own zip code. Should I go ring the doorbell, or should I wait for a security detail to escort me?"

"Dad!"

"Well, are you sure he's home?"

"Both sides of the garage are full. I don't know why Blaine's not picking up the phone, but I know he's there. His dad should be there, too."

"Okay." Burt shut off the ignition, pocketed the keys, and opened the car door. "Just wait here, sport, okay? I don't want you getting in the middle of this."

"Remember, no punching."

"Fine, I won't."

He went up the walk, treading lightly on the expensive flagstones, and onto the front porch, which had actual Greek columns in the front. In Ohio? What kind of pretentious jerk was he dealing with here?

He almost couldn't find the doorbell among all the fancy woodwork and decorations around the front door, but finally he located the small black button, and pressed it. To his relief, instead of some fancy chime, it sounded a simple note, like any other doorbell. Then he waited.

"Who is it?" a voice called. Then the door opened.

Time to meet Mr. Pretentious Jerk.

Blaine's father looked just like him: same dark hair, same hazel eyes. He was a little taller and broader, but otherwise he looked exactly like Blaine, plus twenty years. He was wearing a blue sweater vest over a white button-down shirt and black slacks.

"Mr. Anderson?"

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"I'm Burt Hummel. Kurt's father . . ."

The other man sighed. "This is about this afternoon, isn't it?"

"Did you know that Kurt came home crying because of what you said to him? You could have at least let him explain before you kicked him out!"

"I know, I . . . didn't handle that very well. Would you like to come in?"

"I can't really stay. I just wanted to speak my piece. Besides, Kurt's waiting for me in the car."

"Oh, he's here?"

"He wanted to come. To make sure I didn't punch you out."

"Are you going to punch me?"

"No. I promised I wouldn't. I'll be right back."

He went to the car and tapped on the window. Kurt was playing with his phone, probably trying to call Blaine again, and he looked up. "What?"

"You can come in with me. It's safe."

Kurt glanced up to the open front door. "Did he say it was all right?"

"Let's give the guy a chance. If he says anything, we'll leave. Okay?"

"Okay, Dad." Kurt put his phone away and got out of the car.

There was no sign of Blaine. The blanket under which they had cuddled on the couch was folded up neatly and draped across the back. The case for _True Grit _was still right where he had left it.

"First of all, Kurt," Mr. Anderson said, "I want to apologize for overreacting when I came in the door. I should have at least asked for an explanation, but I was in a crappy mood, and I took it out on you. That wasn't fair, and next time I'll think before I speak."

"We weren't doing anything," Kurt said. "Just lying there. We had the blanket over us because Blaine was cold. Is he okay?"

"He's fine. He's sleeping right now. I didn't want to wake him up when he's so sick."

"I tried to help."

"I know you did. But all I saw when I walked in was the two of you lying together under a blanket. I just jumped to conclusions. I just . . . didn't want him to get hurt."

"I'd never hurt him," Kurt insisted. "I know you don't like the fact that we're gay, but-"

"It's not that I don't like it," Mr. Anderson said. "I don't know enough about it. I'm not home as much as I'd like to be, and when I am . . . he never talks to me. I ask him how his day was, and he says 'Fine,' and that's it."

"Maybe he doesn't talk to you," Burt said, "because he doesn't think you'll understand. Because you're never here."

"Look, I'm not happy about that, either. If it were up to me, I'd never go on another trip out of town ever again. But I'm competing with the younger guys, and my supervisor's told me that if I don't keep up with them . . . I may get left behind. They're talking layoffs again, and I don't want to lose my job."

"Oh." Burt felt oddly deflated. He had come in ready for a fight - not looking for one, necessarily, but expecting to have to defend himself and his son - and instead, he'd found this perfectly nice and oddly apologetic man. He felt like he'd tried to move a boulder, only to have it turn out to be made out of plastic; no challenge at all.

"So you don't . . . you don't mind, us?" Kurt asked.

"I'm taking it day by day. Look, I won't deny that things would be a lot easier if Blaine were straight, for him and for me. But I can't force him to be something he's not."

"Blaine told me about the time you two worked on a car together," said Burt. "He said he thought you were trying to turn him straight."

Mr. Anderson shrugged. "I was just trying to find something we could talk about together. I don't understand any of his music. He talks about all these people, and I don't even know who they are!"

"I hear ya! I still don't understand who Lady Gaga is. I know she's some sort of a singer, and she wears crazy outfits, but that's it."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Daaaad!"

"Well, they call it the generation gap for a reason. We don't have to understand each other."

"That's a relief," said Mr. Anderson.

"Can I ask you something, Mr. Anderson?" Burt said.

"Jack. Please."

"Jack. Where is Blaine's mother?"

Jack sighed and shook his head. "New Mexico, I think. Or Nevada. Or maybe North Carolina, I don't know. It has an N in it." At their confused looks, he explained, "She ran off with her yoga instructor, three years ago. She sends packages on his birthday and Christmas, but she never calls, never visits, and she's never asked him to come visit her. It's sad, because they were really close when he was young. About a year ago, he finally stopped hoping that she'd come to her senses and come home."

"So it's just the two of you now."

"Sometimes I wonder if he blames me for her leaving. Because if she was really happy here, she wouldn't have left."

"She must have had her reasons," Kurt said.

"Well, we may never know what they are. All we can do at this point is try and move forward. Which brings me to the reason I asked you in, Kurt. I want to go over some rules with you."

"Okay."

Burt nodded, but said nothing.

"First of all, I don't like the idea of the two of you alone in the house when I'm not here. It's more of a safety issue - if something happened and I wasn't here, what would you do? I'm not saying you can't see each other when I'm out of town; you can go somewhere else, or have a responsible adult here with you. With me so far?"

"There's more?"

"Not much. I'd prefer it if you weren't alone behind closed doors, when you are here. You can sit out here, or in the kitchen or the dining room. But no bedrooms. Also, at least for the time being, there will be no overnight visits. If there's some kind of emergency, a snowstorm or whatever, you can sleep in one of the guest rooms, but otherwise you should head home by ten o'clock. I might be willing to let it go as late as eleven on weekends and during school vacations, but only if you respect my other rules."

Kurt nodded. So far he hadn't heard anything that much different from the rules his dad and stepmother imposed at their own house. "That sounds fair."

"Good. I'll try to have snacks and drinks in the fridge for you when you visit, but please don't eat me out of house and home. If there's anything I don't want you to touch, I'll put a note on it."

"That wouldn't work in my house," Burt said. "I'd come home to a pile of notes on the counter. 'Oh, I didn't see any notes.' My stepson is a bottomless pit."

"That is so true," said Kurt.

"By the way, I tried that soup of yours. It's pretty good." Jack leaned forward in his chair. "Someday, you're going to make my son very happy."

"He already does," said a somewhat scratchy voice from behind them.

Kurt looked up. "**What** are you doing out of bed?"

"I heard voices."

"Come here." He got up off the couch and led Blaine over to it, taking the blanket down and covering him with it. "We can't be alone behind closed doors, so this will have to do. By the way, you have about eight calls and text messages from me. I tried to warn you we were coming, but I guess your phone was off."

"Yeah, Dad turned it off so it wouldn't wake me up."

Kurt felt so bad now, for thinking the man was a homophobic jerk out to ruin his and Blaine's relationship. "We've had a nice talk, just now. He's not such a bad guy."

"What made you think he was?"

"You have to admit, it was kind of a scary first impression." He laughed a little, and was relieved when the others joined in. "But we've talked it out, and I think things are going to be okay from now on."

"Good. Can we watch the rest of the movie now?"

"Sure. You need anything else? Some more soup or ginger ale? Are you due for more medicine yet?"

"I don't know." He tried to breathe in through his nose, which just made him cough. "Feels like it."

"I'll take care of it. You just lie there and get comfortable."

"You take such good care of me. I wish I could do something for you."

"You can," Kurt said, as he started the DVD player up again. "You can take care of me, when I catch this hell plague from you."

"I don't want you to get sick."

"I don't want to, either, but if it happens, I can count on you, right?"

Blaine smiled, despite feeling so horrible. "Sure. I'm ready for that medicine now."

Burt cleared his throat. "I'll just, um, be going. Kurt, give me a call when you're ready to come home."

"Okay, Dad. No later than ten."

"Maybe ten-thirty," Jack said. "It is a weekend, after all. I've got to go make some phone calls, but I'll be around. Just call me if you need anything."

"We should be fine," Kurt said.

Jack stared at the TV screen. "Is this the remake?"

"Yeah."

"I heard it was good. When do you have to return this?"

"Oh, I own it. It doesn't have to go anywhere."

"Would you mind leaving it here for a few days? I'd like to watch this myself, before I head out to Denver."

"Sure, that's fine."

"It was nice meeting you, Burt," Jack said, extending his hand.

Burt took it with no hesitation at all. "You too, Jack. You weren't . . . what I expected. I mean, this house, it's so huge."

"It was my wife's idea. We were driving by one day and she just fell in love with it. Then it went up for sale, and she would not rest until we bought it. We ate a lot of peanut butter sandwiches for the first year or so, but it was worth it, once she worked her magic. All the decorating, all the fancy curtains and the little touches, those are all her."

"I like the colors," Kurt said. "The cream-colored walls really open up the room. Is she a professional decorator?"

"No, she just liked picking out fabrics and colors. I don't know what she's doing now."

"You could look her up and ask," Burt suggested. "Go on the computer, take you all of two minutes."

"I've thought about that. But . . . I wouldn't know what to say to her."

"Just . . . be honest. Speak from your heart. When you're ready. I'll see you guys later." With that, Burt fished for his keys and headed for his truck.

"Okay, guys," Jack said. "I'll be in the study if you need me. Kurt, it's down the hall, second door on the right. Knock before you come in, if you could."

"I will. Thank you, sir."

"And I'm going to try to talk to my supervisor about sticking closer to home from now on. I'm missing out on too much."

"We should talk more," Blaine said.

Jack nodded. "When you're feeling better, buddy. Things are going to change around here."

"You really don't mind?" Kurt asked. "About . . . us? Together?"

"Kurt," Jack said, "from what I've seen, you're the best thing he's got going on right now. Why would I mess with that?"

For once, Kurt was speechless.

"If you eat anything out of the refrigerator, just let me know, okay? I've got to make a list for Eva, the housekeeper, when she comes Monday morning."

"Sure," Kurt said. He realized he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and he was beginning to get really hungry. "I'll try not to clean you out."

"Oh, help yourself. I kind of owe you for scaring the crap out of you coming in the door like that. I'll be in the study."

"Second door on the right," Kurt nodded.

Blaine started coughing again, and Kurt's attention was drawn back to the huddled form on the couch. "Sorry, baby, let me get your medicine. Where did I put that spoon?"

He found it in the sink, rinsed it off, and dispensed the medicine. Then he settled back into the chair. It really was a comfortable piece, he noted - the upholstery felt like real silk instead of chintz. "This is nice," he said.

"She found it at a yard sale," Blaine said, "and put some new fabric on it."

"I wish I could meet her."

Blaine looked at him sadly. "What did I do to make her go away?"

"You didn't do anything! She just . . . she just needed a change, I guess."

"Do you think my dad will really look for her online?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?"

"I . . ." He looked over his shoulder at the hallway, and the closed study door beyond, and then back at Kurt. "I . . . don't know how to talk to him."

"You have to start somewhere. He seems willing to give it a try. Can't you?"

"I don't know . . ."

Kurt took Blaine's chin in his hand and turned his head so they were facing each other. "Courage," he said. "You can do this."

"I guess I can try."

"Everything will be fine. I'm here for you. Now scoot over."

"What?"

"So we can snuggle."

And when Jack came out half an hour later and found both boys asleep side by side under the blanket, he didn't say a word, just shut off the TV and let them be.


End file.
